


Heart-shaped Box

by evanelric



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Torture, Gen, Graphic Description, Hostage Situations, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Poor Life Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/pseuds/evanelric
Summary: Genji is kidnapped. Hanzo doesn't appreciate the ransom notes.





	Heart-shaped Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bonebo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/gifts).



> This is all bonebo's fault.

Hanzo sets the small parcel on his desk and carefully unwraps the furoshiki, noting absently that it’s been untied and inspected already, as if the pallor of the runner who brought it to him hadn’t given away the contents already. There’s a datapad to his left, lying innocuously on the desk, as if it doesn’t contain a series of photos of Genji in increasingly worse physical conditions.

Bound to a chair and blindfolded, then gagged, then with a hood over his head. His arms are always secured behind him, his shirt ripped open at first, revealing bruises and small burns, likely from cigarettes, then increasingly longer and deeper cuts, overlaid with sloppy burns to stop the bleeding and continue the torture. The front of the sack, where it rests against Genji’s face, is dark with moisture by the last image.

There is exactly one video, ten seconds long, of Genji still in the chair, still masked, still bleeding and burnt, and screaming, seemingly alone in the frame. Then another individual, clad chin to fingertips in black, with an oni mask and a hood pulled up to cover the rest of their head, stands from behind Genji. Genji’s head falls forward, his chest heaving as his breath catches in his throat. It had been delivered at the same time the box arrived, perfectly synchronized.

The cloth falls gently from Hanzo’s fingers, revealing a polished mahogany box with inlaid mother of pearl, and his stomach rolls. He places the pad of his thumb against the catch, sliding it gently open and lifting the lid slowly, transferring the weight to his fingertips as it shifts on the hinges until he can let it rest against the fabric-covered desk.

Inside is a swatch of pure white silk, clearly relaid with more haste than care by whoever had inspected the package when it first arrived, considering how awkwardly the folds lay in comparison to the care taken with the rest of the bundle. Hanzo lifts them away one by one, until they blossom open over the edges of the box, exposing the contents at last.

Inside are ten nearly perfect rectangular shapes, with one end squared with soft corners and the other completely rounded. Most of the surface of each shape is a metallic green, although Hanzo knows if he shifts his head just so, the light will catch and reveal an underlying shade of aqua. Some of the polish, however, is chipped, particularly on what would have been the index and middle fingers, and one nail is cracked.

The silk they rest on has been dyed a muddy red with dried blood, but the care with which they were placed and packaged means the stains are compact and centered precisely around each nail. None of them shifted so much as a millimeter during transport, which means they can’t have moved far.

Hanzo swallows both his bile and his rage as he replaces the folds of silk and lifts the lid back into place, standing and gathering his sword from the stand behind his desk. Whoever these people are, their first mistake was taking his brother. The second was letting Hanzo have a chance to find him. Their last has been sloppiness compounded by arrogance.

By the time he reaches the car the analysis has come back with a particle analysis of the debris from under the fingernails, which narrows the search to a small area of the warehouse district on the other side of the river. When the car stops, it’s outside of one particular building. When the dragon screams through the air, there is no precision, only fury and rage and hunger, followed by an aching silence pierced only by the sound of dripping.


End file.
